𝔼ℂℍ𝕆'𝕊 𝕄𝕀𝕏𝕋𝔸ℙ𝔼  X  𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒸𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓈𝓎 

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙍𝙀𝙉 𝙋𝙀𝘼𝘾𝙀                             ( roastyoualive​ )

whenever there's a moment to generate clear thoughts inside the falsely labyrinthian halls of hawkins high, chrissy has begun wondering if the pathways of her brain have been rewired in the exact same turns and corners. stupid, since almost four years have passed in this place and that seemed hardly enough time for her life entire to be remolded. but something as mundane as high school, evidently, did have that power. a sparse but reportedly all-powerful adult presence mixed with still developing young minds hungry for some kind of independence created a strange kind of panic room masquerading its every wall as windows. there was nowhere to go but in until you were cast out on your butt to be the mystical mature everyone said was required after twelfth grade. a place where all students were asked to be older but treated younger, at its most basic.

at the eventual end of her illustrious career as a hawkins high elite, chrissy was sure she'd be picking out splinters of the school's influence for years.

a new shard lodged itself in hidden places she'd doubtlessly discover later when a voice shattered the brief silence she'd wrapped herself in. it made its intrusion gently, but could not escape what it was. despite herself, chrissy jolted.

❝ huh?? ❞ immediately, too sharp. her grimace offered the first apology. ❝ i — sorry, i was — i mean i wasn't... sorry. i'm okay, yeah. just get lost in my own head sometimes, when stuff here get too loud. probably senioritis, you know? ❞

if whoever this polite guy might be wasn't convinced of her sanity, she'd hardly blame him. that had been one of her poorer saves to date. thankfully, the burst of adrenaline cleared her clouded thoughts enough to see his expression. he wasn't exactly in his comfort zone either. time to save what she could of the moment.

❝ thanks for checking. ❞ a swallow. ❝ i appreciate it. i hope your day hasn't been as weird as mine. ❞ finally she'd collected enough presence of mind for a real smile and a sentence that sounded spoken by an actual human being instead of a zombie. ❝ have i passed your table at lunch recently? they somehow change every year. was it the science club, maybe? ❞

LYRIC STARTER || @greenscrunchy

SONG: DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH - THE NEARLY DEADS

Warren knows he's not exactly social - he's never tried to be. Quite the opposite, in fact. He liked the isolation. It was relaxing. It was safe. (As safe as anything could be, but Hawkins had been pretty quiet, so far.) 

Social or not, he still knows who this is as soon as he turns the corner. Of course he does - it’s Chrissy Cunningham. Everyone knows who she is. Cheer captain, one of the popular kids. Most people said she was nice, but Warren had never spoken to her. Again, he liked quiet. Not social. All that. 

But when he sees the look on her face, he freezes. He almost turns on his heel. He definitely looks away. He feels like he shouldn’t be looking at her like this - like nobody should see her like this. She’s sad. Chrissy Cunningham is sad. Hypocritical as it is, that feels unnatural. He falters, glances around. 

“Uh-” Yup, they’re the only ones here. Nobody else to save either of them from the situation. “Are you… Okay?”

Franny Choi, from “Catastrophe is Next to Godliness”

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙉𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙔 𝙒𝙃𝙀𝙀𝙇𝙀𝙍                                  (vihilum​)

@greenscrunchy asked, “Was it always this way? Was i too dumb to notice?”

Evil has tendrils, evil has roots. Nancy’s never just out of reach, even when she’s grounded, even when her feet are planted firmly against soil. There’s no security granted that comes with stillness. Steadiness. Better to shift. She’s not a shark. She can’t stop swimming. She’s like the other fish in the sea. If she stops moving, she will die.

That’s how it feels. That’s how it’s felt. A mind unoccupied teeters on the edge of unraveling. She’s never catered to the luxury of relaxing and doing nothing. That has never appealed to her.

She thinks Chrissy needs it from her right now. A sure, unmoving hand, set on her shoulder. Stillness. She can’t always anticipate the storm. There’s no way of knowing if this is the calm ahead of a downpour. There is no way to tell what might be coming.

“I used to think I knew,” where it started, when it started, just how wide this crack had spread, she thought she understood everything about it, “but so many things,” Her record’s still playing low. She squeezes Chrissy lightly. “so many things move in secret.”

Things not meant for their eyes, to any prying gaze.

“Hidden, on purpose,” she shifts so that her arm is wrapped around the other’s shoulders, “I’d say noticing it was nothing but dumb luck.”

it’s discouraging to brace for the itching crawl of dread at prospective touch, like prey in a thicket anticipating danger. prey — or a sack of meat for trimming and displayed as a “prize winning catch”. either way, chills still tend to prickle over wary nerves she keeps primed at all times.

when people unexpectedly touch her arms, even friends, chrissy feels hooks sink into skin and frigid air blasting against the skin of her neck. goosebumps sprout, a thousand fearful eyes waiting for the other shoe to drop. for anything that requires an artful dodge and a smile wide enough to blind anyone that could even hypothesize what’s happening under the surface. that fearful, flayed core of chrissy is ugly; no one told her so, she just knows.

but, chrissy is reminding herself, teaching herself, she is safe here in the wheeler house. 

nancy’s room is low-lit, but there are no knives or hooks that she can see. none made for cleaving meat from bone at least. if there is cold, it’s drowned out by hums of music from nancy’s records and the sheer warmth of the colors strewn across the room. it’s cozy and appreciated. lived in. not that chrissy’s isn’t, but there’s a difference between girl’s bedroom and a doll’s. 

                        ❝ dumb luck, ❞  chrissy parrots. dumb luck for smart people. something about it makes the strawberry blonde grin and lean, really actually lean, into nancy’s gentle grip. 

it’s been so long. so long since she had real friends. the kind of friends that truly understood. who were honest without being cruel yet invited openness, offering their own in trade. 

one deep, steadying breath where she lets herself the believe the world has stopped turning, and a breath out. she turns toward nancy unsteadily reassured, but it’s a new beginning.

                       ❝ is it better to wish i’d known sooner? even if the truth was....so terrible. you were trying to figure all of this.....stuff out, about the upside down, all by yourself. you and your brother and jonathan and steve and mike’s friends, i mean. ❞  all of them so damn young when they had to fight a monster no one taught them to look for. and chrissy is afraid that even with enough quick thinking fit to lead a squad of cheerleaders and pull off reasonably good grades while keeping everyone politely at arm’s length, she would still have been too distracted by her own inner ache to see through it clearly.  ❝ things that move in secret are the deadliest. ❞ 

she doesn’t want to miss anything else. she can’t. not just for herself, but for everyone else.

take some sage and pass it around, fam.

Tell me how do I know that i’m alive...!!!!

Instagram 

chrissy is at heart a profoundly private person who tires in social situations far quicker than she lets on and will never admit. this becomes especially apparent once she leaves hawkins for college and then for good. (her one exception is cheerleading.)

she’s also the type that will invite friends who don’t have a place to go for the holidays over for thanksgiving and christmas and new years and easter and whatever. you don’t have family or a place to go for the holidays? now you do. you don’t want to deal with your family? come over to her place instead. she gets it.

i need everyone to know that this is how chrissy reacts to hearing live metal for the first time.

what if i said that because my computer is being fixed by IT i will make a 3-5 song playlist for our characters. because if you like this post i will do it

𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓  𝟓 (𝐨𝐫 𝟏𝟎)  𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐓𝐎  𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄. 

1.    mothers talk   ∕   tears for fears 2.    more than a feeling   ∕   cinematic pop ft. cosette smith (originally by boston) 3.    victoria’s secret   ∕   jax 4.    you picked off all the polish   ∕   UTAH 5.    kids + teens   ∕   kyle dixon & michael stein 6.    fields of coral   ∕   vangelis 7.    gloria   ∕   laura branigan 8.    here i go again   ∕   whitesnake 9.    i cheat the hangman   ∕   the doobie brothers 10.  the end  ∕   the beatles

&  𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓  𝟓  𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐓𝐎  𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄.

1.     “all parents damage their children. it cannot be helped. youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.”   —   mitch albom, the five people you meet in heaven

2.     “i must get my soul back from you; i am killing my flesh without it.”  /  “the silence depressed me. it wasn’t the silence of silence. it was my own silence.”   —   sylvia plath, the unabridged journals / the bell jar 

3.     “i have a strict policy that no one cries alone in my presence.”   —   dolly parton

4.     “when did your childhood end? how badly did you get hurt, when you did, when you were this little, when you were this wee little hurtable thing, nothing but big eyes, a heart, a few hundred words? isn't it wonderful how we never recover?"   —   will eno, thom pain (based on nothing)

5.      In my beginning is my end. In succession Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass. Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires, Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth  [...]  I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre, The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away— [...] I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. [...] So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning. The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry, The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony Of death and birth.                                     You say I am repeating Something I have said before. I shall say it again.    —   t.s. eliot, east coker

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲:  @quietresistance  then  @hellmartyr​  xD  love you both dearly

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠: @darkestshadeofgrey or @athousandmilesandcounting or BOTH  /  @manaborn  /  @starsinshadows (steve)  /  @firelightfables (billy or eddie)  /  @knowseverythingaboutyou  /  @vihilum ( tommy or nance! )  /  @dvarapala  /  @shadowedvales  /  @sihnon  /  @sawbcnes  /  @asteritm  /  @masterwcrk  /  @hostica  /  @katesgotabow  /  @wheeling  /  @cleryc  /  @wihlliams  /  @flaeyed​  /  @telekinsis or @barhd  /  @alwaysrevvedup  /  @flayerlinked  /  @partysheart or @rebelcliche  /  @mikewheelertm  /  @temporarywiin (jessica or ashton!)  /  @trashm0uth  /  @finalhorrors​ (stephanie or eddie k.)

𝚢𝚘𝚞    𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎    𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝    ,     𝚒     𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜    𝚖𝚢    𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎    𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗    𝚝𝚑𝚎    𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜    𝚘𝚏    𝚊    𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔    𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎    𝚊    𝐷𝐴𝐹𝐹𝑂𝐷𝐼𝐿     .      𝚋𝚞𝚝    𝚑𝚘𝚠    𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍    𝚒𝚝    𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔴     𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎    𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎    ?

#   𝙵𝙾𝙶𝙴𝙻𝚂   .     a  writing  blog  horror - based  original  character    𝐝𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥  𝐟𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬   ,     currently  based  in  stranger  things  .    created  by  annie  .